


A Light Unto My Path

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel seeks answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light Unto My Path

“What the hell happened here?” Sam wondered aloud as the Impala rumbled to a halt in its usual parking space in the scrapyard. Not a window in Bobby's house was intact: many simply cracked, but others blasted out entirely, jagged fragments of glass barely hanging onto their wooden frames.

“At a guess? Cas.” Bobby shrugged. “Think it's safe to go in there yet?”

Both men listened, but heard nothing to indicate their return was premature. The freshly nailed up boards covering the most severely damaged windows gave the house a sinister, unwelcoming appearance in the waning light. Quite frankly, Sam would far rather have tackled another vampire lair. At least that was a known danger. God only knew what waited for them inside... But his brother was in there, and that knowledge was enough to draw Sam's reluctant feet up the porch stairs.

Dean didn't look up when Sam and Bobby entered the kitchen. The expression on his face was as shattered as the glass he was meticulously gathering into a pile. Without saying a word, Sam grabbed a spare broom and set about helping his brother tidy up. Muttering under his breath, Bobby spun on his heel and headed back out the door. Looked like they'd be needing a shit load of replacement lightbulbs, and a few sheets of plywood would probably come in handy too. The growl of his old truck's engine faded into the distance, leaving only the rhythmic _swoosh_ of the brooms to fill the remaining silence.

It was Dean who discovered Castiel's trench coat stuffed in a trashcan. The dustpan of debris he held in his hand went crashing to the floor as a sound too inhuman to be formed by human vocal chords slipped from his lips.

“Dean?” Sam's warm hand anchored his brother in a room suddenly tilting dangerously from side to side, the corners of Dean's vision blackening. “Dean!” Sam repeated, and shook him slightly.

The darkness receded. Dean's hand was steady as he reached into the trashcan and retrieved the crumpled garment. “It's okay, Sam,” he said. “I'm okay. I'm just a bit tired.” Carefully, he brushed bits and pieces of garbage from the trench coat and hung it on a hook by the kitchen door. “Let's finish up and call it a day. I don't know about you, but I could really use a beer.”

 

~*~

 

Tahiti was too full of memories. Castiel stood at the water's edge while waves teased at his bare feet, threatening to pull him under with the image of Dean nestled in his arms, laughing softly as the angel's hands tickled their way across the human's ribs, reading the script written beneath the flesh: words of love, words of protection... words with an intent he had not understood at the time that he had placed them there. Words that meant everything to him now.

Everest was too empty. The moon shone down upon the snow-draped rocky peaks, a sharp wind lifting wisps of ice crystals and swirling them in a mist that rose to block the stars. This was what a life without Dean would be. Lonely. Devoid of warmth.

Beijing was too crowded. Paris and Los Angeles were too loud, too bright. The endless dunes of the Sahara were too much of a reminder of making love on the white sands of Motu Tetaraire. The Amazon Rainforest was a poor substitute for all the luscious shades of green to be found in Dean's eyes.

There was no escaping Dean. He wasn't sure why he even felt the need to try. All he knew was that he needed answers, and there were none to be found. There were only questions. Questions he scarcely had the words to formulate. And there was no one he could turn to. He would not go crawling back to Heaven. His brothers would not understand and, while his Father might offer a sympathetic ear, surely He had better things to do.

But, perhaps, there was one place he could go...

 

~*~

 

Father Desmond was seated by the fireplace, the cheery warmth of a vigorous blaze luring him away from the sermon he was supposed to be composing. His head had nodded its way almost down to his chest by the time a sharp knock roused him from his slumber. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he shuffled down the hallway and peered through the old oak door's frosted glass. Even after flicking on the porch light, he was unable to discern any more than that his unexpected visitor was male and wearing only a dark suit in spite of plummeting temperatures and a few swirling flakes of snow, harbingers of the storm front that was sweeping down from the north.

“Castiel!” the old priest exclaimed as he finally fumbled open the door. He held out his right hand and waited with patient amusement while Castiel recalled the custom and then responded appropriately.

“Come in, come in,” he urged. “Please, have a seat while I go put on the kettle. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Whatever you are having will be acceptable,” Castiel replied, settling himself in his usual chair. He tilted his head as a quick pitter-patter of footsteps sounded overhead. Within seconds, a grey streak of fur tore down the stairs and bounded into his lap. “Milly.” Castiel smiled, bending down to bump heads with an ecstatically purring cat, his fingers affectionately combing through her thick fur.

Father Desmond chuckled over the pretty picture the two made as he re-entered the room. “She was inconsolable when you left,” he said, placing a generously laden tea tray on the coffee table. “She still sleeps in your old room. And I'm afraid she stole one of your socks as a keepsake.”

“I'm sorry, Milly,” Castiel said, “but I had to leave. It was time for me to go home.”

Father Desmond's glance fell to the wedding band on Castiel's finger as he watched his guest's gentle hands hold and stroke Milly. “I see circumstances have changed since last I saw you, my son,” he said, and beamed. “Congratulations are in order.” 

“Yes... Thank you...”

Father Desmond's smile faded as he took in the droop of Castiel's mouth, the slump of his shoulders.

“What's wrong?” he said kindly, laying his hand over the angel's and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Is the marriage not a happy one? Is it a marriage of convenience rather than love?”

Castiel's eyes opened impossibly wide as his startled gaze flew to the priest. “It is love,” he said sharply. “There is no doubt of that. I have never known such love.”

“Then I don't understand your unhappiness, Castiel. If you truly love your wife, and she loves you...”

“He,” Castiel corrected.

“Ah...” Father Desmond sighed. “I see. I take it your families do not approve?”

“No, we have their blessings. His brother's. My... father's.”

“Perhaps, instead of playing Twenty Questions, you should just tell me the problem,” Father Desmond suggested. Taking his seat, he reached out to pour two fragrant cups of tea and offered one to Castiel.

“ _I_ am the problem,” Castiel confessed, cup rattling in its saucer as he set the drink aside on a little end table. “I... hurt him.”

“Physically?”

“Yes. It was... an accident. But I could have killed him. I am afraid, Father.”

“Afraid of hurting him again?”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered. “He has forgiven me. But how do I forgive myself? How can I know for a fact that I won't hurt him again?”

“You can't know,” the priest said bluntly. “No more than he can know that he won't ever hurt you. All you can do is be the best person you can be – and I know, Castiel, I know that you are a good man. I have a congregation and a school full of children who would agree with me in that regard. They still sing your praises and wish you would return to us. But, no matter how good you are, no one is perfect, my son. No one should expect you to be – not even you. So don't be so hard on yourself. Take each day as it comes. Do the right thing. Forgive his trespasses, and accept that he forgives you yours.”

“You make it all sound so simple.”

“It is simple. If you love him – if he loves you – what more do you need to know? The rest just flows from that. As the Good Book says: 'Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.'” 

“Love never ends...” Castiel murmured. 

“No,” Father Desmond agreed sadly. “It doesn't. Not a day passes that I don't think of Hannah and wonder what my life would have been had God not called her home all those years ago. The children we never had. The joys. The sorrows.” The priest turned tear-filled eyes on the angel. “Don't let a day go by. Not an hour, not a minute. Love never ends, but 'As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.' Hannah and I will be together in Heaven – I know we will – but she isn't here now, and your husband is. Don't waste the gift God has given you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, resting his hand on the old priest's arm, sending wave after wave of healing and affection through the seemingly casual touch. “You have greatly eased my mind. I will keep you and Hannah in my prayers.”

“And I will pray for you and... uh?”

“Dean.”

“Dean. The young man who was so worried about you. I wondered at the time...” Father Desmond smiled. “You make a strikingly handsome couple.”

“Thank you,” Castiel repeated, rising to his feet and regretfully depositing Milly in the chair. “I must go. Dean will be gravely concerned about my absence. I left... rather abruptly.”

“But you haven't touched your tea.”

“Another time.” Castiel awkwardly held out his right hand, but Father Desmond ignored it and wrapped him in a warm hug instead.

“ _Any_ time,” he offered, patting the angel's back before setting him free. “I mean it, Castiel. You and Dean are always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said yet again, and allowed his host to escort him to the front door, the priest's supportive hand lightly splayed on his shoulder. He had just crossed the street and was about to turn down a dark alleyway and discreetly flap his way back to Dean when he heard a frantic cry of “No!” and the sharp squeal of car brakes.

 _“No!”_ Father Desmond's shout rang out a second time.

Castiel turned to see the old priest running down the sidewalk in sock-clad feet, shoes forgotten in his haste to get to – 

“No,” Castiel moaned.

Father Desmond flung himself to his knees and stretched a trembling hand out to the bloodied, grey fur protruding from under a car wheel. “Milly,” he whispered.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” the driver sobbed hysterically. “She came out of nowhere. I didn't see her until it was too late. I tried – I tried to stop, but – ”

“It's all right,” Castiel said, pressing two fingers against the woman's temple. “Sit in your car for a minute while I see to Milly. Then you can be on your way. Milly is fine. You missed her.”

The woman nodded, a calm but vacant look in her eyes as she returned to her car, closed the door, and sat quietly behind the wheel.

“Milly is not _fine_ ,” Father Desmond hissed, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“She will be.” Castiel nudged the priest aside and with his left hand casually lifted the car the few necessary inches. His right hand scooped up Milly's body and he smoothly lowered the car and motioned for the woman to drive away. “Inside,” he ordered, his gaze sweeping over a curious multitude of open doors and twitching curtains which spilled their golden light into the darkness. “There are too many eyes upon us here.”

Father Desmond trudged wearily in his wake as Castiel cradled Milly to his breast and strode purposefully back into the house. By the time the priest caught up with him, Castiel was already seated in a chair, his gaze firmly fixed upon Milly.

“We should take her to the vet,” Father Desmond said, knowing full well it would be a waste of time. Milly, his beloved Milly, was dead.

Castiel offered no reply. Instead, a bright white glow emanated from his hands, tendrils of lightning snaking their way around Milly until she too was enveloped by the light. 

Father Desmond stumbled backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of his sofa and he sat down with an audible “oof.” And, then, he simply held his breath and stared in open-mouthed awe as Castiel's eyes fluttered shut, traces of brilliant light seeping out from beneath the closed lids. Though Castiel's lips remained tightly pressed together, the echo of a thousand whispering voices, in tongues so ancient many no longer had a name, lingered in the air, teasing at the old priest's brain with their praises of God and promises of redemption and life eternal at His side.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished. Simultaneously with its disappearance, Castiel opened his eyes as Milly stirred in his grasp and turned her head to lick his hand. Within moments, she had lithely risen to her feet and was contentedly purring as she kneaded her paws against Castiel's thigh.

“Who – w-what are you?” Father Desmond stammered.

“I am an Angel of the Lord,” Castiel replied, burying his face in Milly's once again clean and silky fur. “You must not go outside,” he chided softly. “It is not safe, little one. You must never follow me there again.”

Milly meowed, as if in agreement, and leaped to the floor, ambling off towards the kitchen in search of her food dish.

“You are injured,” Castiel said quietly, and gestured to the blood staining one of the old priest's wet and dirty socks. 

“I think I stepped on a piece of broken glass,” Father Desmond mumbled.

“If you would allow me...”

The priest nodded, and Castiel knelt on the floor before him. A gentle touch of the angel's hand, and the pain was gone. Father Desmond removed his ruined sock and stared at the unmarked flesh that lay beneath it.

“When you said your father approved your union...”

“I meant Our Heavenly Father.”

“But... but... you're an angel...”

“I was an angel. I fell. With Dean's help, I became an angel again. And now...” Castiel stood and paced a few steps across the room, staring hard at a framed image of Jesus on the cross. “And now I wish to fall again. I want to walk amongst you. Be human. Feel the full weight of time's passing. ”

“Why in Heaven's name would you want that?”

“Being an angel is no longer enough for me,” Castiel said slowly. “Dean taught me to think for myself. He taught me to want... to hope... to need... to love. I've been lying to him, Father. Lying to myself. Pretending to be content that my Grace has been reinstated. But that isn't true. The only heaven I desire is being with Dean. In this life. In the next.”

“Have you spoken of this to him? Does he know how you feel?”

The angel's mind instantly flashed back to a little diner where they had stopped for refreshment on their journey to Mitchell...

    

  
_The one thing Castiel hadn't counted on was their profound bond betraying him. When Dean handed him a strawberry milkshake with a sly smile and a provocative wink, he took an eager sip, his heart plummeting as he discovered a distinct lack of the usual thrill. The drink was mildly enjoyable. It was not, however, an explosion of texture and flavour in his mouth. It was simply nourishment he did not need.  
_  


_Not a trace of disappointment showed on his stoic face, but Dean suddenly abandoned his comfortable slouch and sat bolt upright in his chair. His right hand shot to his left shoulder, his fingers curling protectively across the scar buried beneath several layers of fabric._

  


_“What was that?” he said, sharp gaze pinning the angel's eyes._

  


_Castiel remained silent and fought the urge to look away._

  


_“Brain freeze?” Sam suggested, trying to defuse the obvious tension which had fallen over the booth._

  


_Dean's eyes narrowed but, after a few more seconds of staring, he dropped both his eyes and his hand and returned full attention to his burger..._

 

“He suspects something is wrong. But it's nothing he wants to hear. He's happy, Father. He has known very little happiness in his life. If I fall, I am afraid that he will fall with me. Fall into a darkness that I will not be able to save him from this time. I cannot risk losing him... breaking his heart...”

“I think that is exactly the risk you're taking,” Father Desmond said. “From what I've seen of the man, he's not the type to break easily. Nor is he the type to suffer fools or liars. And forgive me for being blunt, Castiel, but you are being both of those things. You want to be his equal, but you're denying him his say in a matter that deeply concerns him as well as you. You still see yourself as his guardian angel. You want to protect him from any danger – including yourself. Well, equality is a two way street. So is honesty. So is love.”

Milly sauntered back into the room and immediately resumed her place on Castiel's lap, gazing up at him adoringly. The angel bowed his head and petted her fondly.

“You are not as I expected an angel to be,” Father Desmond admitted hesitantly.

Castiel's lips quirked in a smile. “I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint? Oh, Castiel, no. You performed a miracle today with Milly. And you've restored my faith in humanity. That an angel would choose to be human gives me hope that man might strive harder to reach for Heaven. There is a balance to the universe. All things are possible.”

“I have certainly seen impossible things happen.”

“Don't push Dean away from your truth,” Father Desmond murmured. “Let him know how you feel... or you could lose him.”

“I do not think I could survive that loss.”

“Then you know what you have to do.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, standing up and gently transferring Milly over to the old priest's arms. “I do.”

A rustle of invisible wings filled the tiny room, and Castiel was gone.


End file.
